


take it easy with me

by unearth



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Because I Should Be Allowed to Do That, Concerts, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:07:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26986411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unearth/pseuds/unearth
Summary: He sucks it up, though. Because this is quite literally theleasthe can do for his best friend. She deserves a mansion, maybe, for the way she helped him through the Big Sexuality Crisis of ’86. But he doesn’thavemansion money, so waiting in line ten hours for Joan Jett tickets will have to do.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 17
Kudos: 119





	take it easy with me

**Author's Note:**

> is this the most self indulgent thing i've ever written? absolutely  
> title from "if ya want my love" by joan jett and the blackhearts <3 go listen

When Castleton Square comes into view, Robin full on shrieks.

It’s kind of a miracle that Steve doesn’t swerve into oncoming traffic. Because, when she wants it to be, Robin’s voice is off the fucking charts.

“Jesus fuck,” Steve breathes, puts on his blinker so he can take the next exit. “If this is how you’re gonna be at the concert, we’re gonna need, like, at _least_ five feet of separation.”

“Oh, it’s gonna be worse at the concert, buddy,” Robin retorts. She pops her gum extra loud, just because she’s an asshole. “You’ve seen her outfits on MTV.”

And, well. Yes, he has. Those tight-fitting body suits, the leather jackets. Her wild hair. Steve’s style is, like, the complete opposite but he can definitely see the appeal. “Security’s gonna be like,” he lowers his voice, mimics holding a radio to his mouth, “We got a wild lesbian on the loose.”

Robin breaks out into a laugh and hits him on the shoulder. “Whatever. _Maybe_.”

The line is already a few yards long when they get inside. It’s trickling out of the record shop, people sitting crisscross on the floor of the mall. He takes a second to inwardly groan, because. He _just_ got these jeans dry-cleaned.

He sucks it up, though. Because this is quite literally the _least_ he can do for his best friend. She deserves a mansion, maybe, for the way she helped him through the Big Sexuality Crisis of ’86. But he doesn’t _have_ mansion money, so waiting in line ten hours for Joan Jett tickets will have to do.

“I can’t believe we’re just going to sit here until midnight,” Steve says, makes sure to carefully school his voice so he doesn’t sound _whiny_. That’s Robin’s number one complaint. _There he goes. Poor Stevie. There’s that famous little pout._

Robin considers it for a moment. “At least you get to rest your legs after that hour drive.”

“I guess,” he says. Then, because he’s _Steve Harrington_ and has had this problem since he was in elementary school, he begins to babble. He’s never been good with boredom. “Do you think that diner we saw past Noblesville will still be open when we’re on our way home? Those waffles looked so fucking _good_. Oh, do you still think we should see the new _Karate Kid_? I don’t think I’ve ever liked a sequel, but Mr. Miyagi is _super_ badass.”

And, because she’s _Robin Buckley_ and is so patient and kind and the best friend he’s ever had, she keeps up with him. Doesn’t get annoyed, doesn’t roll her eyes in frustration.

Steve really doesn’t know how he got so lucky, meeting someone like her in _Hawkins_.

“I hope so. We’ll get extra whipped cream like last time, even though I had a stomachache for a year. And maybe? The newest trailer played during SNL and I thought it looked a little boring, but. I’ll take any excuse for movie popcorn.”

They talk back and forth for what feels like forever—but is most likely five minutes—until someone sits on Steve’s left. He knows this because he gets fuckin’ _elbowed_.

“Jesus,” he finds himself saying, turns his body so he’s facing the culprit. “Watch where you’re—”

And, then. Nothing.

Silence. Absolute fucking silence. Like, you could have heard a pin drop.

Because the guy next to him is _hot_. There’s no other word to describe him, just. _Hot_ , with his long hair pulled into a neat bun with a fucking red scrunchie that matches his button-down, which. Is unfortunately open wide, making Steve blatantly stare at the smooth, tan skin of his chest. There’s also the leather jacket, so.

Steve might die.

“Shit,” the guy is saying, pulling his knees up to his chest. When he finally looks over, Steve’s breath catches at the _blueblueblue_ of his eyes. “Sorry. My friend over here thought it would be funny to trip my ass.”

Steve finally realizes it’s not just _him_ who sat down. There’s a girl, cute and sweet, hair tied up with the same kind of scrunchie. Her smile is a little blinding. “It _was_ funny.”

“Didn’t laugh.”

“I did!”

Steve laughs a little, just—kind of in awe, really, nerves seizing him to the point where he can’t really talk. “I, uh, _no_ , that’s okay, that’s—”

“That’s fine. He’ll be fine,” Robin cuts in, leaning forward so Steve isn’t blocking her view. “No harm, no foul. Right, Steve?”

“Yeah,” he agrees. His brain seems to catch up, now, everything around him going back to normal speed. Like his brain had an honest to god _lag._ He sits up a little straighter, keeps his gaze locked on those blue eyes. “Totally fine. I’m Steve.”

The guy grins, something sharp and a little wild, holds his hand out. A bracelet jingles on his wrist. “Billy.”

Steve takes his hand eagerly, holds on a little too tight. “Steve.”

“You said that.”

 _Fuck_. He frees himself of Billy’s hand and laughs at himself, runs his fingers through his hair. He should really get a trim soon. “That’s Robin,” he says, just to put the attention on literally _anything_ else.

Billy nods to his left. “Heather.”

“ _Hi-ii_ ,” Heather sing-songs, but she’s not looking at Steve. She’s looking past him, at—

 _Oh._ Isn’t that interesting. If Steve wasn’t completely distracted by this fucking Rob Lowe lookalike he would definitely give Robin a funny little look, but alas.

“You guys live around here?” Steve finds himself asking. Just to keep the conversation going. So he can have an excuse to look at the curls that frame Billy’s face.

“Purdue dorms.”

“Fancy,” Steve replies, wiggles his eyebrows a little bit. Which—he doesn’t know why he did that. _Jesus_. It gets a small laugh out of him, though, so. Small miracles. “We go to a community college in Hawkins. Saving up to get the hell out of here.”

“ _Hawkins_?” Billy asks, mouth frozen in an amused smile. “Where the _fuck_ is that?”

“Kinda between Muncie and Marion. There’s, like, thirty-thousand people, it’s not _that_ small.”

Billy throws an arm around Steve and _laughs_ , sounds like an evil scientist, or something. “Yeah, that’s _real_ big. Pretty sure we’re almost at a million. Fuckin’ feels like it, at our football games.”

And, like. Billy doesn’t move after that. He keeps his arm draped around Steve’s shoulders, a warm, heavy weight.

“We don’t even have a football team.”

“Not surprising,” Billy says, tilting his head. He looks over Steve, up at his hair that’s sticking straight up with the help of half a can of Farrah Fawcett spray. He hums, leans a little closer. “What’s a pretty boy like you doing here?”

God. _God_. If he didn’t already go through his beer-fueled sexuality crisis with Robin, he would have done so right now. Because—surely it’s not _fair_ that he can just look like that and lean into his space and smell like spice and citrus. In the middle of the fucking _mall_.

“I—my friend, these tickets are for her birthday.” He carefully turns to look at Robin, tries not to knock Billy’s arm from his shoulders and goes a little still when she’s not there. “Uh?”

“She’s over here,” Billy says, voice laced thick with amusement. Steve follows the sharp nod of his head and almost laughs, because. What the fuck? Had he really been so distracted that he didn’t see Robin make her way over to the girl that’s, like, hands down, one hundred percent her type? 

“Oh,” Steve breathes. “Look at that.”

Billy laughs, lowly. “Didn’t really look like the rock ‘n roll type.”

“ _Hey_.”

“Not a bad thing,” Billy adds, smile twisted into a smirk. “I’m into pretty.”

“Oh,” Steve says, again. He gulps, cringes when it’s audible. “Oh, that’s. That’s nice.”

“So. Tell me more about Hawkins, pretty boy.”

And he does. He talks and talks and Billy doesn’t look annoyed when he starts to ramble about stupid shit that doesn’t matter. He talks about how he used to be on the basketball team, was pretty good at it, talks about how his grades sucked but his counselor had said going to a community college and getting a two-year degree could help him get into better schools in the future.

And Billy talks about how he’s from California, how he applied to a bunch of random schools and let his kid sister pick a letter from a pile to decide where he was going. His kid sister is a _stepsister_ , but they’ve known each other since they were young, and adding _step_ gets annoying after a while.

Steve talks about how he’s an only child. How his parents are always away, and how him and Robin moved out to a shitty little apartment building after graduation, saving up to get the hell out of the shithole.

They talk about everything, it seems.

So, it’s only a matter of time when Steve talks about this stupid crush he had in middle school and uses male pronouns without even thinking twice about it.

“ _Hm_ ,” Billy hums. He licks over his teeth, smiles that same sharp smile from earlier. “I hear that correctly?”

Steve’s whole face is burning. It makes tears sting at his eyes, it’s so much. He’s already bracing himself for the fist in his face, or the hands at his chest, pushing him away, but it never comes.

“I didn’t mean to say that.”

“I’m glad you did.”

God. He kind of wishes he could turn to Robin for emotional support, but she’s gone down to the food court to get them all a few slices of pizza. So. Bravery it is, he guesses.

Except the only thing that comes out is, “Really?”

Billy raises his eyebrows. Huffs out a little laugh. “I couldn’t have been more forward if I tried.”

“It’s hard to tell, sometimes. I’ve never—no one’s ever hit on me before. A guy, that is.”

“That’s a goddamn shame,” Billy says. And he’s, like, obviously checking him out now, drinking his appearance in slowly, taking his time. His eyes hover over the neckline of Steve’s shirt, where he knows his chest hair is poking out. It makes him shiver, the intensity of his eyes. “You sure about that?”

“Really sure. I don’t know what it’s like over here, but. Hawkins is… something else. About. _You know_. Everything.”

Billy hums. Thinks it over. “Yeah, I can imagine,” he says in a drawl, sharp canines digging into his bottom lip. “You ever think about moving to a big city?”

It’s cliché, really, him and Robin’s plan for the future. Something about California, maybe San Francisco. “Honestly? When you mentioned being from Cali, I almost said something. Me and Rob talked about heading west.”

Billy’s eyes light up. “You should. When I’m done with school, I’m going back.”

And then it’s another conversation. They go into Billy’s childhood, how his dad was a prick but he got arrested when he was in middle school, after he collected enough evidence of neglect. How he was from San Diego, how he loved the boardwalk. How he collected surfboards even though they were broke, but it was worth it, because he caught a seven-foot wave when he was a kid.

Then it’s Steve’s turn to dig a little deeper. How his parents aren’t around, even on the holidays. How his house is always empty except for when Robin comes over, or the kids he babysits for extra cash are eating up his snacks. Talks about how _babysitting_ isn’t really the right word, because they’re in _high school_ now, and it’s usually just to watch over them and make sure they don’t do dumb shit, or like, _die._

It’s so fucking wild, really, how far it’s gotten in a matter of hours. Or, like. A single hour. He’s not really sure how much time has passed; he’s been so comfortable. Which _rarely_ ever happens. He’s not usually a _talker_.

If you ask Robin, he has a bit of a problem keeping things bottled up until it all pours out of him like tar. But. Whatever.

He’ll deny it.

They eat pizza when Robin and Heather return. They talk about their favorite bands. Steve gets bullied for listening to _Oingo Boingo_ and tries not to blush too hard when Billy grabs at his wrist and tells him _I’ll introduce you to better things, I promise._

Hours go by. Robin and Heather join in the conversation after a while, and Steve and Robin keep looking at each other with these _looks,_ like, _can you believe this is happening to us_?

Steve doesn’t even realize it’s close to being midnight until there’s an excited _whoop_ to their right, at the entrance of the record shop. And then the line starts moving, and they’re up and standing, and _oh_ , Steve has a little bit of height on Billy, which he didn’t really expect.

The line moves fast. People are exiting with tickets in their hands, chatting happily with the groups of people they came in with. And Billy’s right next to him, unbearably close, the material of his leather jacket brushing Steve’s bare arms.

“You heading back to hickville USA after this?”

Steve snorts. “We have to. Class tomorrow, and all.”

“You can’t skip? Hang out with us?”

And, like. Steve’s really tempted. _Really_ tempted. But he has an exam for his biology course and a shift earlier in the day and finals are coming up pretty quick, and. Fuck. He really wants to. Doesn’t want this night to end. “I really wish I could.”

“That’s alright, pretty boy. We have the day of the concert.”

“You want to see me again?”

Billy rolls his eyes and gives him a _look_. “Of course I do.”

They get in and out of the store, easily. Steve can’t stop smiling at how _excited_ Robin is. He’s literally never seen her so happy, skipping along the empty space of the mall with a smile so wide it could rival the sun.

It’s dark when they get outside, the moon hanging full in the late April sky. Steve doesn’t want to go home. Doesn’t want to go to _Hawkins Community College_ and fill out responses about molecules and thermodynamics. Wants to drive out to that diner in Noblesville and share a plate with Billy.

But they all start to linger in the parking lot, none of them wanting to say goodbye.

Billy’s the one that speaks up.

“I had a good time.”

Steve wants to get closer to him. He stays there, though, arm in arm with Robin. “I did too. I’m glad you got there when you did. Do you—do you want to give me your number? So we can all, like, meet up next month?”

And Billy gets that mischievous little glint in his eye and clicks his tongue. “Nah. You’re hard to miss, pretty boy. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

The car ride home is _fucked_. Absolute hysteria. Him and Robin talk at the same time, _gushing_ over what the fuck just went down, and like.

It’s the best thing that could happen to him while he’s stressed about finals. Gives him something to look forward to.

\--

A month passes.

Billy spots him in the line, calls out, “Come on over here, pretty boy. Don’t make me wait any longer.”

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/markofalover)   
>  [tumblr](https://markofalover.tumblr.com/)


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